


Butterfly Effect

by snarkygourmet



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Animal Death, Butterfly Effect, Car Accidents, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Eventual Smut, M/M, Parent Death, Romance, Science Fiction, So beware, There's also a, Tragedy, also, and, btw natalya is the name i gave viktor's mama, but nothing that wasnt in canon tbh, by the way, hey it's sad but there's also some happy, i channeled my memories abt losing a parent and cried, i'll scream if that's her actual name if we ever see her in canon, is likely, maybe this is also, more tags in future maybe, possibly, there are many genres idk which this is tbh?, this is a Serious Fic i promise, uhhh can i get a, yes i think it probably is, you may want to murder me but please Do Not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:30:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkygourmet/pseuds/snarkygourmet
Summary: Everything happens for a reason, no matter how unfair it may seem... But what if something were to be changed?





	1. Perhaps Everything Happens for a Reason

   “ _The Butterfly Effect: The theory that each and every action and event that takes place leads to something else occurring in this world, no matter how big or small the trigger and outcome are._ ”

   “Is that a quote?” the silver-haired man questioned, setting his heaping bowl of food down with a muffled clank upon the cloth-covered table. Folding his legs under himself as his stomach let out a loud growl of hunger, he grabbed his chopsticks.

   “It's from a book my mother used to read me, actually,” his raven-haired husband replied, joining him across the kotatsu, an item they agreed was the best purchase to furnish their apartment's dinning room, where they now resided in St. Petersburg.

 

   It had been two whole years since they were wed, and three and a half since they met. In the span of their two blissful years of marriage, their careers led them to the decision that a permanent move to Russia was in their best interest. During the half year prior, Viktor had made a return to the competitive scene as a skater, miraculously continued on as Yuuri's coach, and lost to his then-fiancé, who had won gold.

   It wasn't as if this was the only pushing factor in the two tying the knot, as it was inevitable they would have eventually no matter what colour medal Yuuri had won, but a deal was a deal. Viktor accepted his silver medal with more joy in his soul than any gold medal had ever awarded him. Yuuri wore his more-than-deserved gold with enough glowing pride to make the sun cower.

   A move away from the warm and familiar atmosphere of Hatsetsu was difficult, to say the least, for not just Yuuri but Viktor as well. The Russian man had grown unbelievably fond of the entire Katsuki family and the wonderful town they called home. However, just one gold medal with Yuuri's name on it wasn't enough for either of them. Their careers were far from over, and a place at which their skating could be taken to the next level was necessary. That brought them to their current apartment, just mere blocks away from the rink that had for years churned out numerous skaters of the legendary sort.

   Each room of their flat was a perfectly crafted fusion of both their cultures and personalities. It was modern, but felt extremely cozy; traditional and charming, yet suave and seductive. Qualities present in both of them were projected out into material goods and interior trim, making for the perfect home. On this particular evening, throughout the entire residence lingered the scent of katsudon, a dish that had come to be commonplace in their diets. Despite the frequency at which it was devoured, it managed to never lose its delectable quality.

 

  
   “' _Butterfly Effect'_? Sounds like a pretty complicated topic for a children's book,” Viktor joked between a bite of egg and pork. “I'm not even sure I get it at the ripe old age of *cough* not a child.”

   Yuuri gulped down several chopsticks full of food himself.

  “Really? I suppose It was,” he replied with a slight smile, stifling back laughter. “And you aren't that old, Vitya.”

   Viktor pouted, giving his famous sad puppy-dog eyes to the other. “I'm now the oldest skater still competing at this level, Yuuriii!”

   “--And it doesn't show at all, minus your skill level, and your big, beautiful forehead,” the Japanese man reassured, continuing before Viktor could protest about his hairline. “My mother read a lot to me, actually. All sorts of books... So many that we eventually ran out of the juvenile ones and had to move on to more serious readings. I remember this one vividly since it was my favourite.”

   “It wasn't scary, was it?” Viktor joked. “I can't imagine your sweet mother terrifying little you like that!”

   With chopsticks still in grasp, Viktor scrunched his hands to make claw-like gestures, surely meant to mimic a monster of the terrifying variety, but the motions looked nothing more than adorably ridiculous to Yuuri.

   “No! It wasn't frightening, Vitya. No matter what she read to me, her voice always made it seem like a lovely fairytale,” Yuuri retorted lightly, breaking an egg yolk open over some rice. He lifted the food into his mouth and closed his eyes in bliss. The flavours danced over his tongue and he savoured every bit of it. “Truth be told, I only really understood this story until I reread it at a much older age. It could've been the most terrifying tale known to man, but I'd have never known,” he added with a bashful laugh.

   The bottom of the bowl was already becoming visible to the Russian man as he paused eating and set his head in his hands thoughtfully.

   “Is that so? ...My mom used to read lots to me, too,” he added with a melancholy smile.

   Yuuri's attention was caught as he, too, momentarily ceased eating, even chewing. His eyes widened visibly at the ever-so-rare mention of his husband's mother.

   “ _Vitya_ , you.. you've hardly ever mentioned anything about her,” he stated hesitantly, knowing that the territory in which he set foot in was a sensitive one. A single ripple too upsetting in the depths of his lover's past was a crushing fear for Yuuri. Though he was curious, the last thing he wanted was to intrude on something the other did not want to talk about.

   In all the time they had been together, hardly a single mention of Viktor's mother had come up. As a matter of fact, only twice did he let out details of the woman who had brought him into this world-- just two, incredibly brief times. Once shortly after they got engaged and once again when they moved in together.

   “You know, I think my mother would have loved to meet you,” were the words uttered during the former. Painfully short, but enough to hint at her no longer being around. No further additions were needed nor provided. Yuuri didn't press the matter and Viktor did not continue the topic.

   Unbelievably, the latter was possibly even more heartbreaking.

   “Who's the woman in the picture above the mantel?” asked Yuuri.

   Her characteristics were strikingly similar to Viktor's. It was clear that the two had some sort of familial connection. Perhaps Viktor's cousin, or even a sister he hadn't somehow heard about, but he couldn't tell for sure.

   In the photo, the woman looked rather young-- in her mid twenties at most. Her practically luminous white locks cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall of frozen water. Numerous plants of pure white stock to match were surrounding her where she sat. Her appearance reminded Yuuri of a teenage Viktor.

   As the other man answered Yuuri's curiosity, his tone became noticeably heavy and his normally steady hands became wavered just once as he reached out to brush his fingertips across the glass covering the photo frame.

   “She's my mother,” he exclaimed shortly before changing the subject.

   While he managed to keep his composure both times, Yuuri could tell that such was an emotionally taxing struggle-- one he didn't want to ever put the other man through ever again. The expression of hurt and sorrow upon his lover's face, and how much he was trying to hide it, was unbearable. No matter how short of a duration the episodes of sorrow lasted for, they were indefinitely burnt into Yuuri's memory. Needless to say, he made a mental vow to never bring the matter up again.

   Resting his chopsticks upon his now practically cleaned bowl, Yuuri readied himself to give his complete and undivided attention to Viktor, shocked that the man seemed like he was really going to carry on with the topic.

   “Mmhm,” Viktor continued, breaking the momentary silence. “She recited a lot of folklore to me. Truth be told, I think she made most of it up on the spot,” he smiled, sadness lingering in the deep blue of his irises.

   “You don't have to talk about her if it's too much, Vitya,” Yuuri's body stiffened as he interjected, concern overtaking his mind. “Please don't push yourself.”

   The Russian man corrected his posture from his previous position, slouching over his dinner. Pivoting his torso to the slightly, he outstretched his legs to the side a bit. “It's alright, my Yuuri. I... I want to talk about her.”

   The tenseness in Yuuri's shoulders that subconsciously arose eased a bit with this reassurance. He gulped instinctively, nodding in understanding.

   With a deep sign, the other added “I miss her terribly. There's a spot in everyone's heart that always remains for their parent even after they're gone, you know?”

   Yuuri bobbed his head-- if either of his parents had died, he knew for sure that he'd be crushed over the loss endlessly for quite some time at the very least. While the sorrow may dull over time, it would never fade completely.

   “My father wasn't around-- I never met him. My mother was the one who was always there for me, always encouraging me. I owe literally my entire life to her, in more ways than one. She was actually the reason I started skating, herself a skater. My earliest memory is of her on the ice, that long silver hair twirling around her figure as she performed a Double Axel. She was incredibly amazing and impossibly graceful; I wanted to be like her.

   “She took me with her each time she paid a visit to the rink. On the eighth time, she brought me out onto the ice with her and began to teach me the basics. At first, I could hardly stand! Can you believe that? It's really hilarious to think about,” he laughed wholeheartedly, dimples appearing just under his eyes.

   “At the time, I was still practically a toddler-- not nearly old enough to be taken under a much, much younger Yakov, who was her coach at the time. If my math is right, he had 5 years earlier retired from competing at just... 26 years old? That sounds right. I really... got the best head-start in the sport anyone could've asked for. It might sound cliché to say, but there's no way I would be where I am today had it not been for her sharing this part of her life with me; this part that would become practically the entirety of my own.”

   Yuuri felt a lump form in his throat, unsure of what to say. The atmosphere of the room had changed drastically, reflecting the sombre nature of Viktor's retelling of his past.

   Reaching for his glass of water, Yuuri finally managed to force out some words. “She sounded like a wonderful mother.”

   Viktor smiled in reply, his face filled with fondness. “She really was.”

   What felt like the longest silence to have ever taken place on the surface of the earth ensued. The dark haired man took a small sip from his glass, but attempting to swallow went with about as much ease as trying to drink flour. Finally, his throat gave in and allowed the liquid down just before the urge to hack it up set in.

   An air of utter helplessness surrounded Yuuri. He was not the greatest at comforting people, and never had been. Even after multiple years with Viktor, he often never knew exactly what he should do when Viktor got upset. Was trying to offer his husband sweet words the best route? Pressing further into the topic now that the can of worms had been opened, perhaps? Before Yuuri could weigh the two options adequately, his subconscious decided for him. The second option came barely sputtering out.

   “H-How... how did she...?”

   “How did she... die?” Viktor finished for him.

   Yuuri's eyes widened, heart rate accelerating as nervous regret set it. It sounded harsher than he could've anticipated. Immediately, he was ashamed of himself for allowing such carelessness.

   “...Car accident,” the Russian finished. “She was on her way to an early practice. I was still asleep when it happened, being baby-sat by Lilia. I was only 10, then.” He picked up a single chopstick and twirled it through his long fingers. “I woke up to Lilia letting out a loud wail, her hands immediately flying to her face, muffling the sounds of distress, as she hung up the phone call that delivered the news. That was the only time in my entire life I've seen that woman cry.”

   Viktor was silent for another moment as if to gather himself. Taking in a long breath of air and brushing his hair out of his eyes, he began again while tucking the strands behind his ear.

   “After that, I went to go live with Yakov and Lilia. I had no other relatives that would take me in and I was obviously much too young to be on my own. By that age, I was still 3 years away from, but technically ready to start training for the juniors' league. However, for months after my mother's passing, I couldn't bring myself to so much as go to the rink, let alone step out onto the ice. In truth, I was completely lost at that point in my life, just as any other child would be.

   “It wasn't until nearly a whole year had come and gone that something finally clicked in my brain.

   “' _Mama wouldn't want me to just be sitting around like this_ ,' I thought to myself, sitting alone in my bed one night.

   “It was true-- I'm sure had she been there, she would've lovingly scolded me; told me to go and skate, to keep honing my talent, to keep doing what I so enjoyed, and to keep chasing the dream I had to be like her. So that's what I did.

   “At 1:30 in the morning, I found myself grabbing my skates I had stored away under my bed. They hadn't even been viewed in months and had a thin layer of dust upon their surface. Next, I was snatching the set of keys to the rink Yakov had on the key hook in the kitchen, and running right out the door with them in my hands. I was more alive than I had been in forever. Before I knew it, I was slipping the key into the lock on the rink doors, pushing them open and being met with the familiar indescribable smell that lingered through the whole building.

   “Getting out onto the ice was... many things. Challenging, for one, since I fell out of practice. I met the ice face-to-face immediately with a smack. But I got back up. I got back up because on that ice was the only place I had felt a level of closeness to my mother this strong in months. It was like she was there with me again, encouraging me to stand. I quickly got the hang of skating again. It's like what they say about bikes... Uh...”

   “...Once you learn, you can't forget?” Yuuri chimed in, finishing the English idiom.  
Viktor smiled.

   “Yes! _Spasibo_. I continued skating, my footwork smoothing out the longer I did so. I ended up practising until the sun came up, gliding, twirling, and even performing a few jumps, something I'd rarely done correctly before, completely losing myself in the moment.

   “Sometime during all of this, Yakov had made his way to the rink. He later told me he had woken up from the clicking lock of the front door, got suspicious, and went to investigate. As he found nothing out of the ordinary, he went to check on me, and I was no where to be found. I actually feel kinda bad-- it must've been quite the fright to wake up and have the child you're the guardian of to just disappear in the middle of the night,” Viktor paused with a chuckle. “When I finally saw him, he was sitting on one of the benches lined up against the wall. Instant terror pulsed through my body and I dug my blades into the ice to stop. I expected him to be furious with me. But, to my surprise, he didn't seem angry at all. If anything, there was a faint trace of relief present upon his face as we made eye contact. Immediately, I made my way sheepishly to the entrance way to the rink and stepped off onto the flooring.

   “Yakov stood up with a mighty sigh. 'Couldn't you wait for regular practice hours? You're just like your--' he cut off, leaving his sentence unfinished.

   “He didn't need to complete his thought. I knew exactly what he was trying to say, and nothing made me happier. I was beaming with pride. ' _Just like my mother._ '

   “'If you're done, let's go home, then.'

   “For the first several years of my skating career, skating in memory of my mother served as my drive. It fuelled me every single day to go beyond what was expected. I practised whenever I could-- probably to an unhealthy extent. But while others found the cold chill of the rink's air to be bitter and biting, to me it felt like a comforting caress from my mother.

   “By the time I had won my second gold at the Juniors' GPF, something began to feel different. Along my journey getting to that point, the ice started to feel less like my mother's and more like my own. I had grown to love skating for what it was, not just for the way it reminded me of her. During this same time, whether it was related or not, I went through a rather depressive phase. I once again felt lost. It wasn't as if I stopped missing my mother-- that wasn't it at all. But I was moving on to the senior's division soon, and I was faced with the realisation that if I wanted to keep going, I would have to skate for myself.

   “The evening of that day of my realisation, I raced home from practice and shot to my room. With a flick of my wrist, I had locked myself my bathroom, ignoring Lilia's increasingly fervent requests that I come to the kitchen for dinner.

   “Bag and coat were dropped to the floor and kicked to the side. I turned and my eyes immediately searched the counter for the scissors. Having located them after a brief moment, I snatched them up and yanked a lock of hair away from my face. Holding it up to see in the mirror, I hesitated.

   “ _Was I sure about this_? The scissors inched closer. _I couldn't turn back after this_. The scissors were opened.

_Snip._

   “The first clump of hair fell into the sink below me. Any panic that could have arisen after hacking off my hair like that was squashed by my determination and adrenaline. I grabbed another handful. _Snip._ Then another. _Snip_. Another, another, and another until all my long hair was gone from my head. It surrounded me in a sea of silver right where I stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

   “I stopped to catch my breath and inspect my new reflection. Wow, did I look like hell! Like a blender had been the one in charge of the cutting. I set to work again to make myself presentable. It took longer to style my hair than it did to initially cut it.

   “An hour and forty-five minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom. The house was still lit, and only then did it sink in that I would have some serious explaining to do to Lilia, first off, and then Yakov. But I was more scared of Lilia. My palms grew sweaty as I made my way down to the kitchen, quiet as a mouse.

   “I peered around the corner before the room to see if she was in there. She was. Sitting at the table with absolute perfect posture, Lilia had her back turned on where I stood. I falsely assumed that she didn't have eyes in the back of her head.

   “'Would you mind explaining to me why you were ignoring me?' she asked sternly before I could announce my presence.

   “Meanwhile I didn't move. I failed to come up with anything that I could've said. Lilia didn't hesitate to swivel around in her chair to face me, though. Her eyes were as sharp as ever, but more youthful then. As I came into her sight, that accusing glare immediately shot wide open and turned into shock, then softened.

   “'What in the world happened, child?' she demanded softly.

   “I'm not sure why, but at this point, I had started crying. I didn't even notice it at first-- it was a silent cry. Lilia rushed over to me, wrapping her long arms around my figure. Only once this happened, I became aware of my tears, and they soon morphed into a waterfall. Though I quivered now, I still didn't let out a single peep.

   “Not long after, I noticed Lilia and Yakov start to become more and more distant with each other. That was the start of them eventually splitting, but that's a whole other story.”

 

   Nearly a half hour had passed since Yuuri and Viktor had sat down for dinner, and in that period of time, Yuuri had gained a whole new insight into Viktor's past; one that never shown through the media coverage of him, one that could never be captured up in gossip, one he wouldn't've ever been completely prepared to hear, and one that Yuuri could've never imagined as reality.

   “The rest of the story... Is really rather dull, until Sochi,” Viktor laughed. “And you most definitely already know it from there.”

   Yuuri nodded, looking down at the floor. While thankful that his husband trusted him enough to spill his heart out like this, guilt ate away at his mind for causing such an emotionally draining recollection.

   “Vitya... I'm sorry.”

   “What for, _moy golubchik_? None of this is your fault. Perhaps... Everything happens for a reason.”

   Yuuri gave a perplexed look.

   “What do you mean?”

   Viktor took in a deep breath and exhaled, his previously visible traces of sorrow leaving with the air.

   “Well, if the things that happened in my life never happened, we wouldn't have met at the banquet after Sochi.”

   A silence would've followed had it not been for a sudden crash. The interruption of the mood was followed by a blur of brown fluff barrelling into the room, nearly colliding with the kotatsu.

   “Makkachin!!” yelled the two men in unison.

   Quickly, the couple picked up their dishes as the dog pounced on the tabletop, circling a few times before plopping herself down. Neither of them could be mad with the blissful expression their pet wore as she panted, looking back and forth between her two owners fondly. The kotatsu was warm-- the perfect bed for any animal seeking out a nice place to lay down. They both exchanged looks with the dog and then themselves before bursting into a shared fit of laughter.

   “Makkachin, were you hoping to get some katsudon yourself?” Yuuri interrogated the dog light-heartedly while ruffling up her fur with his spare hand.

   “Silly girl, you know what happens whenever you eat human food! The vet is going to think that you just love him if you end up at his office enough!” Viktor added as he became the first to get up.

   The cushion he sat on had been comfortable, but his joints weren't without stiffness. Dish in hand he stretched to relieve some of it.

    _Crack_

   He stopped in his tracks, looking back at the other man with an expression of barely faux dread.

   “You see!? I am getting old! My baaack...!”

   “It's because you were sitting forever!” Yuuri's amusement only escalated. “This happens every time.”

   Viktor didn't say anything more on the matter, but pouted with all his might on the way to the kitchen sink.

   “Fine... Who's turn is it to do dishes, by the way?”

   “Hmm, I can't remember. Rock, paper, scissors?”

Viktor lost.

 

   Later that night, after their apartment had been tidied up, Yuuri found himself wide awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was a comfortable temperature and air was peaceful. A quiet fan in the corner produced a small breeze. Viktor was fast asleep beside him, his soft, rhythmic breathing keeping perfect pace like a metronome. Yuuri, however, couldn't help but restlessly dwell on the words his spouse had spoken earlier.

 

   ' _Perhaps... everything happens for a reason_.' He repeated to himself, pulling the sheets closer to his bare chest. ' _Perhaps..._ '

   It was a matter of fact that they likely wouldn't have met had it not been for Viktor's mother dying so many years ago, leading him to throw his entire self into skating. Yuuri fully comprehended that, but simultaneously condemned the cruelty of this truth. Why did it take something so awful lead to something this wonderful?

   He rolled over onto his side, deciding that he had exhausted himself thinking. It wasn't going to change anything no matter how much he pondered. They both had practice tomorrow, and it was important that he get at least a bit of rest. Soon, he drifted off.

-

   The world was extremely bright. Not a single definable object in view, but the bright pink and orange hues of sunset were present all around. It was warm like a late spring evening and smelt of car exhaust and pollen. Yuuri's senses came to him one at a time, each stalling a bit as if they needed to calibrate themselves before they were functional. The man had to blink several times before he could even make out anything in front of his eyes. A busy intersection finally worked its way into view.

   Filled with confusion, Yuuri glanced around, trying to comprehend how he had gotten to where he stood-- last he remembered, he had gone to sleep. He shouldn't be hearing the whirs of cars fly by or be standing out in broad daylight in front of a cross walk, fully dressed as if he had places to go and people to see.

   ' _A dream, then?_ ' concluded Yuuri, uncertain-- surely, it was too realistic to be a dream, but what other explanation was there?

   “You crossing, too?” a sweet voice called out in Russian to the left of the Japanese man, thus fully pulling him into reality.

   He craned his neck in the direction of the voice and nearly fainted in shock. In front of his eyes was a tall, fit woman with fair skin and a head of silver hair that glowed rose in the light emanating from the setting sun. She had one arm partially extended towards the nearest traffic light's cross walk button, the other in the pocket of her teal hoodie. It was the same exact woman as the one in the photo at home on the mantel; the same woman surrounded by the pure white stock. _Viktor's mother._

   “What's wrong? Looks as if you've seen a ghost,” she laughed, apparently completely unaware of anything out of the ordinary besides the foreign-appearing man completely stunned frozen beside her.

   “Are you a fan, maybe? Do you want an autograph?” She looked to Yuuri for his response, stepping a few inches towards him. "Or maybe you're a skater? You have the form for one! "

   A barely comprehensible, hardly intelligible “U-Uh, yeah,” was all he could manage in response.

   ' _What the hell is happening?_ ' screamed his brain over and over.

   Somewhere in the back of his mind amongst everything else, a horrid, unshakable feeling of impending doom was being born.

   “Starstruck or something? Don't worry, I don't bite,” the lady reassured with a magical sounding giggle.

   She let her backpack slide off her shoulder gracefully, resting it on the ground and unzipping it. She bent over and from it, she pulled out a small notepad in a single fluid movement.

   “Alright,” she began, uncapping a pen she manifested along with the pad of paper. “Signed Natalya Nikiforov... and who am I making this out to, young man?”

   '. _..Natalya.._.?'

   In that moment, it was like a higher power took over Yuuri's actions and words. The frightful feeling of dread had become overpowering and all-powerful. It told him he had to take action, though not what for.

   Yuuri quickly grabbed Natalya's arm that held the pen, causing her quite the startle.

   “Miss, please get away from the edge of the pavement,” he interrupted before she could pull away.

   “What are you doing?! You can't just gr--”

   The ear piercing screech of a motor vehicle in distress cut her off mid-sentence. Flying towards where the duo stood on the sidewalk came a car speeding down the wrong lane. It wove in and out of oncoming cars chaotically, with nothing other than sheer luck keeping it from crashing thus far. It was evident that the driver had lost all control. In an instant, it was barreling towards them.

   Yuuri ignored Natalya's protests and yanked her arm, pulling her back. Not even a moment later, the car came up onto the curb, crashing into the street light she was just standing by with enough force to completely cripple it.

   Debris exploded from the vehicle in all directions upon impact. The window shattered, sending glass shards every which way. The hood of the car detached from one hinge, resembling crumpled paper. Various parts from the engine laid strewn about in a circumference that extended all the way to the other side of the road.

   Several more vehicles clipped the demolished machine, some spiraling out into traffic causing additional, albeit smaller wrecks. It was absolute mayhem, like nothing either person had ever experienced. It only eased when the traffic eventually came to a halt, no car able to make it through the pileup.

   Neither Natalya nor Yuuri were severely hurt. The only injuries were minor cuts to their arms from shards of glass sent hurtling from where the car's windshield formerly was. The same fortune could not be extended to the driver however. Though their body could not be seen, blood dripped from the bottom of the right side door indicating their likely demise.

   “O-Oh my God,” Natalya's voice hitched as she began to shed shock-induced tears. She brought her hands up to cover her face, her whole body quaking.

   One look at the red liquid pooling on the pavement and Yuuri let his hand slip away from Natalya's arm. His legs jellified and he slumped down to his knees. He wasn't one to get especially squeamish around such things, but this was something very different than anything he'd been through in his life. This was too real to be a dream-- too intense. And yet, nothing taking place could possibly be reality, could it?

   As if on cue, the man's consciousness began wavering. The scene that just unfolded around Yuuri began to dissipate into nothingness and the bright scarlet light of the springtime evening faded to black. Distant crying and blaring sirens echoed out into silence in the back of his mind.


	2. Unkind Dreams and Cruel Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few things may become clear, but what good's that when another hundred questions arise?

    A faint beam of light peered through the crack in the partially drawn curtains, barely illuminating the room in the early morning. Any waking soul was either extremely unfortunate or an early bird flirting with madness if they found themselves awake at this hour.

    The night still lingered faintly as it finished bidding its last farewell before giving way to the day. A stifling quiet settled itself over the general vicinity, clinging to the surroundings like a thick blanket of fog. There was not even a single seagull cry off in the distant sky-- a true rarity, and an ominous one at that. The only noise came from the hardly audible rising and falling of soft breaths from a person about to awaken from slumber.

    Yuuri was entangled in multiple blankets and sheets, all necessary in the chilly months of late autumn. Judging by the state of his bed, his sleep had been restless. The man twitched slightly, emerging from unconsciousness, and just like that, the peace was interrupted with a sharp gasp. The dark haired, somewhat petite skater shot up in bed, wheezing for air. Eyes and mouth agape, Yuuri grasped his chest with clammy, desperate hands and attempted to catch his breath.

    “W-what was that?” he rasped, panicked.

    Moments passed as Yuuri struggled to get his breathing under control. It took a great amount of effort to avoid hyperventilating. The rapid beating of his heart finally subsided enough, allowing Yuuri to adjust his senses and survey his surroundings. This started first with feeling around where he sat.

    It was a cushioned surface. His hands ran over folds of fabric and a plushy pillow was situated behind him, evidence that he was sitting in a bed. Though, where the bed was or who it belonged to were part of a whole other story.

    There was a mild struggle as Yuuri worked to unwind and free his limbs from the covers. It did not feel like the bed he shared with his husband in St. Petersburg, that was for sure. Upon this realisation, Yuuri frantically began feeling around in the bed for the other man, rummaging through the covers. Distressingly, it didn't take long to discover that Viktor was not there with him.

    ' _P_ _erhaps he already got up,_ ' Yuuri attempted to comfort himself, however, he knew there was no point.

    Not only was the bed was too small for two people to comfortably share, but there was no body indent in the fitted sheet beside him, nor warm spot to indicate another person's previous presence. Wherever Yuuri was, he was there all alone. But where was there? That was the looming question.

    The room had a sense of familiarity to it, but thanks to being thrown into disarray immediately upon awakening, he hadn't yet been able to comprehend his surroundings beyond the perimeter of the bed. In the dim light, he concentrated on bringing his eyes into focus, then scanned the room. There was a vague sense of familiarity.

    '... _My room?_ '

    --But something was terribly, terribly off.

    There was no doubt about it; the room was most definitely Yuuri's. His keyboard leaned against the wall and poodle-themed knick-knacks were where they had always been. Similarly, his chair and desk were adjacent to his bed, lined up against the window-- their regular locations. So what was off?

    Furniture? _Check._

    Layout? _Check._

    Decal? _Oh._ _There were no posters._

    Not a single pin-up, nor printed photo, no piece of memorabilia of his former idol, now husband, was to be found. The walls were empty. Not even so much as a rectangle surrounded by sun-bleached wall paint was to be found. It looked foreign without the posters adorning the room. They had always been there; a constant in this environment for as long as Yuuri could remember. So why weren't they there?

    Among the many questions that arose, laid another obvious one: _why_ was Yuuri was here and _how_ did he manage to have no recollection of any sort of trip from St. Petersburg to his family's home back in Japan? There was absolutely no reasonable explanation.

    ' _A weird dream? A dream, a dream, a dream... This can't be real. It's just a bad dream,'_ concluded Yuuri, repeating it and lulling his mind out of panic. ' _Just go back to sleep.'_

    He laid back down, rearranging his blankets and fluffing his pillow to get comfortable. While he tossed and turned a few times, to his luck, this didn't last long. Within minutes, he was weightlessly floating around between the realms of sleep and wake. Sinking into the mattress quickly phased into the feeling of plummeting down through the depths of slumber. Hibernation reached out its arms to embrace Yuuri as he continued his metaphorical descent. Somnolence was so close, he could feel it.

    --Then, in an instant, the fall was obstructed by the intruding pains of a splitting headache. Sleep's tendrils had barely brushed up against the man's skin before being forced into withdrawal, coiling back out of reach.

    Eyes once again flew open as hands shot up to grasp Yuuri's throbbing head. It felt like his cranium could split in two. He could feel his heartbeat in his temples. Words couldn't even pry their way out of Yuuri's mouth as he laid there paralysed, waiting for the pain to pass.

    Seconds turned to minutes as the suffering clung on. It was unlike any other pain Yuuri had felt before. The man had kissed the ice more than once and gotten head injuries as a result in the past, sure-- but that didn't even compare in the slightest. Nothing did. This was far more than just a “headache”. It was _Hell_.

    At last, the torment subsided. Five whole minutes had trickled by, though it felt much, much longer. The poor man was finally able to break away from the misery far exceeding that of most migraines. His sheets were, by this time, soaked with sweat and stuck to his body uncomfortably, like paper mache.

    Not waiting around for anything, he peeled away and threw the covers off violently, hurtling out of his bed and over to his closet. Yuuri yanked a random shirt off its hanger with such careless force that the flimsy metal arms were bent down, bottom-centre bowing outwards. He pulled the shirt over his head, shimmying his arms through the sleeves while simultaneously shuffling over to his bedside table to rummage for his glasses. He felt the smooth plastic frames quickly, opened them, and pushed them on. One of the arms accidentally jabbed him in the face thanks to his haste.

    With a quick glance outside window, the curtains just barely drawn back, Yuuri remembered the hour. He paused at the door. If he really was back at his family's home in Hatsetsu, they'd most definitely be asleep. Did they even know he was here? Did they perhaps know what was going on? Yuuri swallowed his never-ending inquiries and took care to slide the door open as quietly as possible. Those questions could wait, at least for now.

 

    Tiptoeing down the hallway, the man kept his breathing shallow and silent. He made his way past the currently empty spare banquet room, and then both Mari's and his parents' rooms. These were just before a relatively short and considerably narrow staircase leading to the first level. At any moment, Yuuri expected to hear the sonorous snoring of his father. Alas, even that sound was hushed away.

    Up to this point it was nothing less than a miracle that the wooden floor hadn't creaked a single time under his weight. However the real difficulty still waited ahead at the aforementioned staircase. Even when they were newer, they had always croaked and groaned if a breeze so much as hit them a certain way. In the lack of light, there was also the heightened danger of falling to overcome. Visions of taking a violent tumble down the stairs triggered a cold sweat to break out.

    Yuuri rounded the corner and found himself standing at the floor's landing. Gulping, he glanced downwards. The good news was that there was now just enough light to see the floor at the bottom. Dawn was approaching rapidly. His fear of falling was quelled. The bad news was that no matter how much light there was, the boards would still be creaky, potentially disturbing his family from their deep slumber.

    ' _I have to, though,_ ' affirmed Yuuri hesitantly.

    Gritting his teeth in preparation, he placed one foot down on the step below.

_Creeeaaak_

    The flooring responded just as anticipated, causing Yuuri to stiffen up and freeze where he stood. Ears alert as a feral animal's, he listened intently, searching the space for any noise to indicate that anyone in the house had heard the disturbance. There was nothing. He relaxed his muscles and prepared for the next step, pausing momentarily to assess his options, of which there were two.

    Option one was to continue on at this pace, drawing out the duration of time in which the noises from the floor could be heard. It was risky. Option two was to race down the stairs as fast as his legs could take him, thus reducing the time he spent on the stairs, and by extension, the time spent producing noise. That was rather appealing. Option two it was.

    Yuuri inhaled deeply and then took off, pattering downwards.

 _Cre_ **_akeak_ ** _eake_ **_ak_ **

    Instead of several separate noises, the steps were indeed combined into one joint ruckus, just as expected. The only problem? That combined creaking noise was an absolutely _horrid_ one. Yuuri made a huge misstep in what to anticipate here. Perhaps option one would've been better after all. At the very least, that would've likely been quieter even if it had taken longer.

    Now on the ground floor, Yuuri cursed himself but didn't wait around to see if his family stirred. He took off towards the front door at once, only stopping momentarily to bend over and retrieve his shoes and snatch his wind breaker off the coat-hanger at the entryway. He soundlessly slipped out the front door and was instantly greeted by the brisk dawn air.

    Drawing in a gasp, a wave of mild ease washed over Yuuri's entire self. His tension was left behind in the house. However, just simply camping right outside like this was out of the question. He still had to get somewhere else; somewhere he could be alone in peace and gather his thoughts. He reached a hand into his jacket's pocket, feeling around for something.

    ' _It should be here..._ '

    His fingertips brushed over something small, metallic, and cool to the touch.

    ' _Oh thank goodness,_ ' thought Yuuri as he brought the object out.

    It was his spare key to the Ice Castle.

 

    The trip from Hatsetsu Castle to the ice rink was a short one. An eight minute walk or a four and a half minute jog at most. This, Yuuri had always been grateful for. It was incredibly convenient to say the least. If you really wanted to, you could realistically walk anywhere in Hatsetsu-- it was a small, easy to access town. On top of this, it was often said by the locals that the only proper way to experience the town's offerings was on foot.

    Yuuri slid the key into the lock on the Ice Castle's front door and turned it with a flick of his wrist.

    C _lick_

    Except for the security lights, no other power seemed to be going towards illuminating the interior. As such, it was incredibly dim in the building. The man wasn't unused to this though. After years of coming to Ice Castle to practice whenever he felt anxious or found sleep evading him, he knew his way around perfectly fine in low light.

    On the carpeted floor of the lobby, Yuuri's footsteps were muffled as he made his way over to the skate rental racks. He didn't bother grabbing his own when he left his house, something he was now mentally berating himself for. It wasn't that he didn't trust the Nishigoris to equip the skate rental shop with quality skates, the skates just weren't _his._

    Crossing over the metal threshold into the rental room, he let out a deep sigh. Yuuri hadn't been here in what felt like forever. This place never really changed, though. Despite him being more than confused, and, quite frankly, a little scared, he still felt comfort in being at this place. Ice Castle was practically his second home when he lived in Hatsetsu. After all these years, it managed to retain that atmosphere.

    ' _Maybe this_ **_is_ ** _really all just a dream,_ ' Yuuri speculated to himself as he grabbed a pair of skates. They made a harsh, clanging metallic sound as the blades were pulled off one of the racks. He slipped out of his running shoes and into the skates.

    ' _Yes, that has to be it.'_

 

    Six times-- Six times he fell. Each time due to nothing other than mistakes in his form and stance. Was he just being sloppy? No. He was distracted. Yuuri always fell when he had something on his mind. This was something he had always struggled with-- and something Viktor always pointed out to him.

_'Viktor...'_

    Yuuri had made his way off the ice and left the rink by now. There was only so much falling he could take in such a short amount of time. It wasn't good for his body nor morale. He wasn't going to be any more focused today than he had already experienced, that much was obvious. There wasn't a point in making any more attempts.

    Back in the locker rooms, Yuuri threw himself down on one of the benches.

    ' _Why isn't he here? Where..._ '

    The Japanese man whipped his skates' laces undone and tore the shoes off.

    ' _Why can't I wake up?!_ '

    Yuuri sat on the bench of the locker room, staring at the carpeted floor. What in the world was going on? Tears of anguish began to well up in the corners of his eyes. If he wasn't really awake, this was certainly no dream, but more of a nightmare.

_Pling_

    Yuuri's phone vibrated and let out a notification alert from inside his pocket. He took it out and gazed down at the lit screen. It was a text from Mari.

    >> _You out?_ The letters read in the message.

    Yuuri flicked his thumb across the lock, contemplating his choices. So, Mari knew Yuuri was there-- and it wasn't news to her? He didn't particularly have anything to lose in this situation, at least.

' Might _as well respond._ '

    >>Y: _Yeah._

    >>Y: _At Ice Castle._

    >>M: _Breakfast is ready. Mom and Dad want you to be fed._

    >>Y: _I'll be right home._

    He paused for a second, then began anxiously tapping his foot.

    >>Y: _Mari?_

    >>M: _Yes?_

    >>Y: _Have you noticed anything... weird?_

    >>M: _No?? What do you mean?_

    >>Y: _Anything out of place? Something not as it should? A strange feeling?_

    >>M: _What are you going on about?_ **_You_ ** _feeling any of those?_

    He bit his lip. Yuuri wasn't even sure about all the facts yet. While Mari was just as supportive as his parents, there was no way he could tell Mari about how he had seemingly spontaneously transported several hundred kilometres in the middle of the night without having any recollection of how and why. She'd think he was going mad. Hell, Yuuri himself was already on his way to thinking such. He had to drop it, for now at least.

    >>Y: _Never mind._

    >>M: _..._

    >>Y: _Save some food for me, please._

    Yuuri swallowed the lump in his throat and let out a sigh, powering off his phone. He just wanted some clarity--

_Rumble_

_\--_ And some breakfast.

 

    The scent of frying eggs and cooked rice wafted through the air outside Yuutopia. Yuuri began to unzip his coat as he walked up to the entrance leading to the restaurant portion of the inn. Sliding the door open, he stepped inside, no longer having to take extra precautions to be as silent as a mouse. He wriggled out of his wind breaker and shoes and put them away. The restaurant seating area was only occupied by one. This wasn't out of the ordinary considering it was still rather early. Yuuri made his way back to the separate room his family ate in.

    He rounded the corner and his eyes fell upon the sitting figure of his father, already kneeling at the table. Toshiya was faced slightly to the side, newspaper in grasp. His glasses were rested low on the bridge of his nose, covering his focuses eyes.

    “Off skating so early again?” he asked from behind his papers.

    Yuuri made his way over to the kotatsu and sat down across from his father.

    “Yeah,” replied Yuuri. “Woke up early from... a nightmare. Couldn't fall back asleep.”

    Toshiya turned the page with a rustle.

    “I see, I see. Make sure you're getting enough rest.”

    “I will, don't worry,” Yuuri assured, fiddling mindlessly with his napkin. His father didn't question why he was here and not in Russia, either...

    A few moments of silence passed before Mari entered the room carrying two piping bowls of food. Hot steam swirled up, reaching for the ceiling, but dissipated before reaching it. Hiroko was right behind Mari, two more bowls in hand and her signature motherly smile on her face.

    “Good morning, Yuuri! Did you sleep well?” asked Hiroko.

    “He went out to the rink this morning, already--” Toshiya chimed in, neatly folding and setting his news paper to the side “--said he couldn't get back to sleep.”

    “Oh no! You're not over-working yourself, are you?”

    Hiroko placed a bowl in front of Yuuri before seating herself.

    “No, no! I'm fine,” he assured, mildly flustered. “It was just a little bit of casual practice.”

    Mari glanced over at him as she kneeled down next. Something in her eyes hinted at suspicion towards Yuuri. “Casual practice” surely wasn't the term for whatever had occurred on the ice earlier, but luckily Yuuri's parents seemed to buy it without question. Mari, however-- well, she had enough reason to assume something was up after earlier's texts.

    Yuuri locked sight with his sister, mentally pleading that she would keep quiet about her doubts. Mari's eyes narrowed slightly before she broke the stare-down, turning her attention towards her food. Yuuri let out a quiet sigh of relief.

    “You're always working so hard--” Hiroko smiled proudly “--Make sure you eat all of your food.”

    Yuuri nodded, “Thank you.”

 

    After the meal was finished, the dishes were collected and placed in the sink. Yuuri volunteered to wash them, much to Hiroko's delight. He was left alone in the kitchen, to complete the task. He didn't mind. At the moment, Yuuri didn't feel up to socialising even with his own family.

    An appropriate amount of soap was dispensed onto the sponge and hot water began to fill the sink. Yuuri set to work, humming quietly to himself. Making quick work of the chore, each dish was scrubbed clean. He was on the last one before a throat was cleared behind him. It was startling enough to the point that Yuuri nearly dropped the dish from his hands. He spun around to see his sister leaning on the wall by the doorway.

    “You're acting weird,” Mari commented, not waiting for her brother to say anything.

    Carefully, the final dish was put in its place on the drying rack. Yuuri grabbed the drying towel and patted the water off his hands.

    “H-How so?”

    Mari's expression was unchanging.

    “Yuuri.”

    “...Yes?”

    She sighed and walked closer, hands crossed over her chest. Mari's approach wasn't particularly intimidating, but she meant business. Yuuri backed up against the counter as far as he could without literally getting up onto it.

    “You're acting like your mind is somewhere else. Are you not feeling well?” Mari questioned.

    “I'm fine,” replied Yuuri. “I promise I'm fine. It's just--”

   He cut off. What was he going to say? That he couldn't even tell if anything was reality or a dream at the moment? That he should logically be halfway across the world instead of here? His mind was very much in another place, and he most certainly was not feeling “well” about anything.

    “Just what?”

    Yuuri sighed, going with what seemed like the best way to go about answering, and possibly getting a better idea about things.

    “I had a bad dream?” he said in an inflection that was less statement and more question.

    Mari cocked her head to the side.

    “A dream?”

    “...Yes.”

    “What happened in it?”

_She won't let this go..._

    Yuuri shifted his stance as it grew mildly uncomfortable to have the counter digging into his back.

    “I guess... Something happened to Viktor?”

    “Vicchan?” Mari asked. “It was that bad?”

    It was usually his mother, not Mari, who referred to Viktor as Vicchan, but it wasn't too unusual. A surge of relief found its way into Yuuri's mind upon the mention of Viktor. So maybe... this all wasn't exactly a dream, but he was just missing something? There was a part of his memory that just wasn't there, perhaps. A gap in his recollection had formed, plain and simple.

    Yuuri nodded, “Yeah, I couldn't find him anywhere-- he just up and disappeared. Even when I woke up, he wasn't there.”

    Mari's expression turned from one of interrogation to one of deep thought. She scratched the back of her head.

    “He wasn't in your room?”

    “No.”

    “Well, he was up for breakfast earlier,” said Mari. “That's weird that he wasn't with you when you woke up, though.”

    Yuuri paused.

    “He already ate?? But I didn't see him anywhere when I got up this morning to go to the rink.”

    Not only that, but Viktor never missed a chance to have a meal with his family.

    “Yeah, he was pretty hungry, too. He went upstairs to your room when he was done, though. He's probably still there, asleep or something.”

    ' _My room?_ '

    With that, Yuuri took off to his room, exiting the kitchen and leaving Mari behind there.

    “Yuuri??” she called after him, but he was already halfway up the stairs.

    He made it to his room in record time, rounding the corner at the top of the floor and briskly sprinting down the hall. The door was not quite flung open, but it had seen far less frantic entrances before.

    “Vity--”

    A small poodle was curled up at the foot of Yuuri's bed. His head perked up at the sound of his owner's voice, who had come to a complete halt right inside the room. Eyes that had fallen upon the small creature were glued open in complete shock. Vicchan let out a small, excited whine before getting up, jumping off the bed with a quiet thud, and running over to where Yuuri stood. His tiny paws made patting noises against the wood floor with each step.

    “What the hell was that about?” Mari called from out in the hall, having apparently followed. “Oh, I'm glad Vicchan is there after all. Feel better seeing him yourself?”

    No response.

    “Hello?”

    “Y-Yes. Thank you,” Yuuri managed to choke out.

    “Hm...”

    Mari's suspicious glare could be felt on the back of his neck. Yuuri refused to turn around as the threat of tears spilling over was too great of a risk.

    “Well, alright,” she mumbled. “Yuuri, try to get some rest and feel better.”

_Oh, thank god._

    “Yeah,” replied Yuuri with a short nod. “Sorry.”

    Mari stuck around for a few more seconds before turning away. The man waited a short while longer for his sister to get all the way back downstairs before quietly sliding his room's door shut.

    Vicchan sat in front of Yuuri, anxiously awaiting attention. Once closed off in the solitude of his room, the tears finally came for the second time that morning. He collapsed onto the ground, legs giving out like jelly underneath. The small dog inched closer while sniffing Yuuri concernedly.

    “Vicchan, I don't... I don't understand.”

    “ _Whine”_

    “It's all too much,” Yuuri muttered, reaching out to pick Vicchan up. He buried his face in the soft fur of his beloved pet, whom he assumed was long gone until mere minutes ago.

 

    It was now mid-day. Yuuri had eventually made his way over to his bed and feebly pulled back the covers to crawl under. Vicchan followed closely, of course, making himself comfortable against his owner's chest.

    Yuuri was far past all cried out at this point. All that remained was exhaustion. Multiple hours had ticked by, and even more Google searches had taken place during that time. Phone now drooping out of his hand, many questions remained, but one thing for sure was cleared up:

    There was, in fact, no famous skater by the name of _Viktor Nikiforov._

    This name did not belong to anyone in the skating world. There was not a single record of him, not a single article. _Nothing_. This truth came with a horrid case of nausea, and an even worse case of loss only confirmed by the lack of ring on Yuuri's finger. He had spent the past several years with this man, and suddenly he wakes up in a world where he didn't even exist? What kind of horrid thing was the universe pulling over on him? Had he done something to deserve this? Yuuri scoured his memories for answers to this question, but kept coming up blank. He hadn't done anything to be awarded with an act of karma so merciless. He hadn't done a thing... Right?

    The most recent recollections prior to this day were of Yuuri having dinner with Viktor. Along with this, he also knew they had conversed over the meal.

    ' _About what, though?_ '

    He knew it was a heavy topic. He also knew Viktor was the one to have done practically all the talking. However, Yuuri just couldn't recollect what the topic had been. With an exasperated groan, the man shut his eyes. A headache similar to the one he had woken up with was setting in once again. Perhaps it never really went away to begin with. Either way, it was both unpleasant and entirely unwelcome.

    Through the pain, Yuuri still forced himself to dig deeper into his memories. The migraine's force only increased by the second, as if fighting against his efforts. It was Yuuri's conscious thought vs. his brain, and they were waging a violent war-- but consciousness was determined to win no matter what. In his life, Yuuri had split his knees open, sprained his ankles, accidentally sliced his skin open with his skates, and nearly gotten concussions on several occasions. He wasn't about to let a headache get the better of him.

    The throbbing pressure on his skull peaked sharply, and at once, the heart-stopping sound of screeching tires immediately crashed through Yuuri's mind. His eyelids flew open. His heart felt like it was going to erupt from his chest. It all came flooding back to him.

    The conversation, the car accident,Viktor's mother, her death, his dream. _His dream._ He had saved Viktor's mother in it...

 _'_ _Perhaps... Everything happens for a reason.'_

    Those words rang out in Yuuri's head-- the words Viktor had said to him.

_'Well, if the things that happened in my life never happened, we wouldn't have met at the banquet after Sochi.'_

    There was but one conclusion to all of this. One incredibly illogical conclusion, but at the same time, the only one possible: Yuuri's “dream” was no dream at all. He had really been there on that street corner. He had actually met, and _saved_ , Viktor's mother; the woman who should've died in a tragic accident, leaving her only son behind with the pain of her passing and the desire to follow in her footsteps. With one simple act, Yuuri had inadvertently altered everything. But how?

_The Butterfly Effect: The theory that each and every action and event that takes place leads to something else occurring in this world, no matter how big or small the trigger and outcome are._

 

What a cruel joke.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry lads, got real sick for a while there and couldn't do shit :0

**Author's Note:**

> sticks m leggy out real far but only gives the ol razzle dazzle to those who enjoyed, give kudos and/or comment  
> also wow that was a lot of dialogue rip  
> it's past 2 AM i hope there arent any mistakes lol


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